


insecticide

by leedeeloo



Series: Flytrap [1]
Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Cannibalism, First Person, First Time, M/M, this is absolutely horrifying please do not think im kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 04:47:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: So, like, whatever happened to Bombus, anyway?





	insecticide

**Author's Note:**

> one time, circe 2016, a friend said "so phobos eats bugs, right? and bombus is a bug, right?" and i wrote this in a flurry and i am putting this out tentatively.   
> i really am not kidding with those tags, this is your last warning.

I loved the way he tasted. His lips on mine, the smell of his skin under my tongue. I didn't want anything else.

We were close emotionally, very close, very intimate, but hadn't done much physically.  Lots of hugs, sleeping next to one another, some sloppy spur of the moment kisses that occasionally turned into greedy make outs. It was easier to bond with words, less disruptive to our friends. So that's what we did.

It was after a tour, one of the first days back, and we were alone. Doc and Havve were on business somewhere, probably something to do about Havve. The Commander just said he would be ‘out’, which meant he was visiting someone. It was like a sleepover, just the two of us; we'd scream and laugh and grapple like children, and then that energy would just fade. We'd stop at the same time, both inhale, realize our proximity, and be a mix of shy and eager. One of us would shift the mood, stifle a giggle, and the cycle would start all over.

It would escalate a bit each time; shy little pecks that prompted equally shy laughter, my thumb and forefinger pinching the hinge of his jaw, his breath and tongue hot against my collarbone. It was comfortable, slow. like we could always be with each other.

That house was almost abandoned at that point. We could all come and go as we pleased, paying some bit of rent when we were there, never having to negotiate with other tenants.  It was a mess until we really committed to it. The backyard was overgrown, turf grass so long and tree leaves so thick it was the perfect private island to stargaze in. As soon as we got outside we fell into a lull, the cool night air calming us. I don't think we did much stargazing. 

I caught him looking at me, and I got it. I nodded. He was slow, his hand on my stomach, lifting my shirt, making my bare skin glow. I miss the texture of his hands; soft, skin-like one way, a prickly resistance the other. He took his time getting on top of me. 

My arms slid over his shoulders and then this joy welled up in me. I started grinning, tried to kiss him but my teeth were in the way. I didn’t quite realize- he kept  _ touching _ me, just his hands, and he seemed happy enough with that. But I was needy, nuzzling against him, bucking my hips, passively asking for more. 

He took off my shirt, his, laid them both under me. Pants crumpled beside us, and he settled between my legs. Our foreheads kept pressing together, I kept my arms tight around his shoulders. All I could smell was his breath, and something about it was making me woozy, bringing saliva to my tongue.

He wanted to stay in me when we were done, which I didn’t mind. He stayed close, kissing my face, his hands running along my skin. When he sat up, there was this crackling sound and he froze. It was like knuckles cracking and ice being crushed- something popping, breaking apart.

I got it then. I understood everything. I panicked. I tried to hold him closer, tried to fix it, somehow, make the inevitable not happen. My hand brushed along his hips, and there was more of that noise. 

He pressed his forehead to mine, I felt him turn, his lips on my cheek. His hand gently took mine, eased it away, back to his shoulder. He kept kissing me, humming, trying to calm me down. Told me, in a quiet voice, what would happen. Not to look, just stare up at the sky, not even his face. I did as he said, and tried not to listen while it was happening. While he disemboweled himself.

It still haunts me, how calm he was about it. He knew the whole way along what was going to happen, what was waiting for him at the end of that road. And yet he still did it.

I almost wanted to stay like that until his body went cold. But dawn was coming, and I knew I couldn’t stay out there. I got dressed, moved his clothes out of the way. I just looked at him for a while, wondering what to do, how I’d explain this. It looked like burns on his face, his mouth. Little chemical burns, his skin going ruddy and peeling. I licked my lips.

It was just a natural cycle. It was obvious by then.

I had to work myself up to eating the recognizable parts of him. The insides were just like meat; faceless and fleshy and it wouldn’t have hurt to cook them. The only prep I did was I turned my back east, to keep the sun out of my eyes. And I ate.

The logistics of keeping some part, some little memento, was what kept me from doing it. Not to mention the fear of someone finding a spare finger rolling around in my drawers.

He was gone some time after dawn. I shoved his folded clothes inside of mine, tip-toeing on the small chance anyone would be back. I had a lie to construct, and I had to do it fast.

I packed up everything of his- really, just grabbed it by the armful- and, for the time being, shoved it all in the decrepit shed in the corner of the yard. When I had time, I went to the farthest edge of the city I could, the farthest suburb, and pawned off all of it. I never did anything with the money.

No one asked where he was right away. I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but I needed to test out my story. If the Commander didn’t call bullshit on me, then Doc would certainly believe it, and Havve rarely bothered to argue against anything. 

I told them all the same thing. Bombus left, didn’t want to be in the band anymore. He waited until we were done the tour, and then bailed. To do his own thing, he’d send postcards if he went anywhere cool.

They all bought it. Sad, but acceptable. 

I keep our shirts from that day in the top shelf of my closet.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think!


End file.
